


Recollections

by DeadlockMeka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Asexual Moira O'Deorain, Awkward Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, But they still love each other, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More characters to be added later, Oral Sex, Post-Recall, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around, Then back to enemies, Unhealthy Relationships, Young Genji Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, Young Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlockMeka/pseuds/DeadlockMeka
Summary: "You're a disgrace to Overwatch," Morrison sneered, the acid dripping from his voice recognizable even through the visor. "If I had known what Reyes was planning..."The smirk in Moira's voice was nearly palpable, as she stared down the barrel of his rifle with something almost resembling boredom on her face. "Well...it seems to me that it was...convenient, for you, not to look too closely into Gabriel's business." She paused, almost for dramatic effect. "Why is that...Commander?"Because she knew. Even after all this time, she knew. She knew why after all the "close" scrapes, all the "almost"s, all the "he got away"s...she knew exactly why it is that Gabriel Reyes could never bring himself to kill Jack Morrison.





	Recollections

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, fellow Overwatchers. Grab your Pachimari and hold 'em tight. This is not gonna be a happy, sweet, fluff-pile (if you couldn't tell, from the summary). There will be bloodshed, and tears, and suffering. 
> 
> You know. All that good stuff. 
> 
> All of you with strong stomachs, happy reading, and may the Iris be with you. Also, the story is going to do a lot of jumping around between the past and present, so if you begin to get confused about what time period you're reading, just let me know, and I'll make sure to clear it up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woo! First chapter! This first little introduction takes place in the past, I'm thinking sometime just after the first Overwatch strike team was formed. Enjoy! Future chapters will be much longer, I promise, we're just gettin' our feet wet here! Stick with me, please!

A lot of things irritated Gabriel Reyes. No, seriously. Like, a lot of things. Fake “Latino” restaurants, for one. You call _ that _ a fucking tortilla? That was twenty bucks he’d never get back. Places that always had the air conditioning set to _ Antarctica _ all year round. He’d rather succumb to heat exhaustion. 

But the one thing that got under his skin the most, that kept him gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin there was red and raw, the thing that drove him actually fucking insane more than almost anything else...was his inability to hate Jack Morrison. 

It should have been easy, honestly. Looking at their history together, anyone in his place would most likely hate the guy, too.

He had outdone Gabriel in nearly every category in SEP, and even through Gabriel, not Morrison, had been picked to lead the Overwatch Strike Team, it was no secret that the blonde soldier was the favorite. He was the golden boy, the one with all the star-shaped stickers. _He _was the one that everyone probably wanted for the position, and despite the fact that Gabriel had secured it, nothing could convince him that it hadn't been a total pity vote. 

But, _shit_, it was difficult to dislike this motherfucker. 

It would make Gabriel's life a lot simpler if Morrison acted like a complete dick. He almost wished that the other man would look down his nose at him, throw a disrespectful look his way, arrogantly flaunt how popular he was around the organization. Maybe let Gabriel catch a bullet in the shoulder on the battlefield. No one would blame him. But, damn it, all he did was the opposite.

He was nothing but respectful of Gabriel's rank. He defended his comrade tirelessly against hordes of Omnics, just as he did with Ana, or Reinhardt, or any of the others, despite the fact that the team hadn't been together that long. He was friendly and dependable.

He was _perfect, _and damn him for being so.

And, it was kind of hard to hate someone that you spent weeks shacked up with in some god-forsaken hole in the ground, backs pressed against one another's, your head on a swivel, and the pad of your fingers caressing the trigger of your weapon. 

They got too little sleep for emotions like that.

When they finally returned back to whatever temporary base that was set up at the time, when Gabriel could finally scrub off the hours and hours and hours worth of dirt and grime and someone's blood off of his skin, when he could rest his aching muscles on something other than the rocky ground, that was when he could roll onto his back, think of the accidental offhand jokes he and Morrison had shared, the silences that were marginally comfortable (as much as they could be, anyway), and think..._"damn it"_.

And sure, it might seem petty. It probably was. It definitely was.

But something about how...flawless this asshole was irked him to no end. And it irked him even more that he never acted in any way to actually fuel those negative emotions. It was a vicious cycle. 

The guy bothered him to no end, but he could never seem to remember that. 

All of this, and more, ran backwards and forwards underneath Gabriel's ratty black knit cap as he shoveled spoonfuls of mushy rations into his mouth at a soldier's pace, sneakily, but still pretty obviously shooting looks at the blonde man across the room from him. Morrison sat with his back against the wall, his teeth going after a hangnail he had been messing with the entire morning, as his leg bounced tirelessly.

They were due to ship out again today. Gabriel had honestly forgotten to where, and that probably made him a bad Commander. Maybe...China? No...maybe somewhere in the U.S. Well, wherever the hell they were going, they were going.

And while it was pretty standard stuff, at this point, you could still tell that lingering nerves that would pass through each member of the Strike Team, no matter how many times they had done this. In Gabriel, it was the way he ate, ravenously and like he would never see food again. Shit, he might not, if it went bad. 

In Ana, it was the way she tirelessly inspected her weapon, turning the rifle in between her fingers and scrutinizing them to the brink of mania, her dark eyes darting back and forth.

In Reinhardt, it was the slightly more eccentric rumble of his laughter, always louder and desperate than normal.

In Torbjorn, it was-well, he was _always_ kind of pissy, so it was hard to tell, actually. But the muscles of his neck definitely seemed tighter. 

Liao...where the hell was she, anyway? She always seemed to disappear before these things. Not that she was ever on the front lines, though. She only ever tagged along on things like these, to give some helpful advice, when it came to the Omnics they were fighting, and to collect data, for the project she was working on. 

And finally, in Morrison, it was the way his teeth went into overdrive, nibbling and gnawing on every bit of himself he could reach. Whether it was tirelessly chewing on his bottom lip until lines of red dotted it, or like now, pulling and wriggling the crescent sliver of fingernail hanging from his thumb.

The skin around it looked red already, and Gabriel could count on it bleeding before they arrived at their destination. Gabriel grunted, pushing his plate away as he consumed the last vestiges of the rations, warm, but also slightly mushy, peas.

He dropped the spoon onto the plate, the metallic clattering of it making the rest of the team hunch with some cleverly disguised flinching. He stood abruptly, rolling up the sleeves of his black hoodie past his elbows to stave off some of the humidity the room carried, with all of the people crammed into a small space. 

"Morrison!" He barked, causing the man to finally stop his incessant gnawing and look up at him. His blonde eyebrows knit together in his usual, determined gaze, and he set his shoulders. "Reyes?" He cleared his throat, correcting himself. "I mean...Commander?" 

Gabriel hesitated for a second, folding his arms tightly against his chest as he tilted his head to the side and raked his eyes across the other man's face.

"You ever considered keeping the blood on the battlefield?" He grunted, gesturing at Morrison's thumb, which now, as he had predicted, had drops of blood spotting the skin there, brilliantly red against the pale color. 

Morrison blinked, confusion lighting up the blue irises of his eyes, before the corner of his mouth tilted up a fraction in a small ghost of a smile and looking at the torn skin of his finger. "Yeah...I've considered it." He admonished, tucking his hand away into the pocket of his standard-issue black Overwatch pants, specifically designed for the members of the Strike Team. "No better time to put it to the test than the present, now, hm?" He finished with a shrug, the smile growing.

"And if I were to give _you_ a piece of advice, Commander...maybe you shouldn't eat so much before we ship out. It tends to...gum up the works." He slyly commented, the grin converting from reserved to Morrison's own classic brand of farm-boy shithead, which he had patented in SEP and whipped out on a constant basis. 

And damn it, no matter how rude that is, no matter how much he should really tell this blonde asshole to watch his mouth, no matter how...fucking _unfunny <strike></strike>_that <strike></strike><strike></strike>is...Gabriel's mouth twitches, and he feels the tug of his own grin at the corner of it.

He ignores it as best as he can, folding his arms tighter and slightly digging his nails into the palms of his hands. "Whatever, _Jackie__." _He sneers, using the old nickname the other SEP cadets used to slap onto the blonde soldier. "I know what I'm doing, okay?" He managed to spit with as much grime as he could put behind it, before turning around and stalking away before the other man could see the mirth slowly winning its fight with his face. 

Ana gives a muffled snort, loading the last cartridge into her weapon and hefting her gun high, turning her attention away from Reinhardt and the desperate, loud jokes he was trying to lay upon her. "If you two are done..." She took a glance at her communicator, raising a slim, dark eyebrow. "We should get going. Liao has finally reappeared. I think we should...perhaps get going, yes?"

Looking to Gabriel specifically, she raised her other eyebrow. "Wouldn't you say...Commander Reyes?" The way she drew out the syllables in the last few words carried none of the respect that phrase definitely _should_ have, and she knew it. She could be such an ass. 

It was kind of funny. Sometimes. But not in the way that Morrison did it. _That_ pissed him off. It did. 

No, seriously. 


End file.
